Free Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Susan Vaughan Page A

didn’t remember getting into the shower. But he sure as hell remembered stepping out buck naked and finding Cleo in his bed and wearing nothing but a sheet.
    The shock sobered him in a nanosecond. But not enough. He should’ve been diplomatic. He could’ve let her down easy. Instead he told her she was like a kid sister and he wasn’t interested. He ordered her out of his room. Her face flamed nearly as red as her hair but she didn’t cry. She nearly ripped her blouse and jeans getting dressed so fast. Then she called him a jerk and punched him in the gut before stomping out. When he looked for her in the morning to apologize, her mom said she’d gone to visit a friend and wouldn’t be home for a few days.
    So for the last ten years, he’d alternated between kicking himself in the butt and wondering what crawling into that bed with her would’ve been like.
    Well, hell, enough reminiscing. He’d attached a few tracking buttons to random bags and pockets but mostly he just spent five minutes reminding himself what an asshole he’d been. If Cleo showed up now, she could order him out of her room, like he did to her. But he preferred to have their first meeting in public so she would listen without slugging him.
    His gaze hit on a sketch pad. No help there but he was curious. He leafed through a few pages. Some of furniture layouts and wall treatments. Mimi’s, he guessed. The next ones were totally different in every way. Not Mimi’s. Bold, sweeping strokes captured the drama of the Italian coast and the busy port of Naples.
    He’d known for years Cleo had talent but not like this. Even in black and shades of gray, the sweep and passion of the sketches moved him.
    No time to ponder that. He dropped the pad. How could he figure out what shoes, what clothes, what bag she’d choose tonight? Too many possibilities. He was about to give up and try to find her later when he spotted the white square of paper beside the hair dryer.
    A seven-thirty reservation at the French restaurant.

Chapter 7
    CLEO TORE HER gaze from the stairway. She’d caught only a glimpse of him. No, it can’t be.
    “Join us for the show tonight, Mimi,” Deidre held the elevator door open.
    “The acrobats are supposed to be amazing,” Stacy said from behind her friend.
    “Maybe.” Cleo blinked away the image. “I’ll see how I feel after dinner. I’m pretty tired.” True enough. Her feet hurt and her head swirled with the mosaics and frescoes of Palermo’s Royal Palace and the Archeological Museum. But mostly what had exhausted her was sustaining a cheerful yet reserved demeanor. She waggled her fingers in farewell.
    As the elevator door closed, she looked at the stairs. Four people with DayGlo-yellow T-shirts reading “McCoy Family Reunion” and a woman wearing a swim cover-up and flip-flops were descending. No one going up. No rangy man charging up two steps at a time. Her heart still scrambled from the shock.
    She’d glimpsed only the man’s back. Khaki pants and green polo. Nothing unique there, but worn like a uniform? And the tilt of his head, the set of his broad shoulders, the aura of power. She’d thought she was over him, over the infatuation and the humiliation, but the sense of recognition had lashed her like a whip. The stinging blow still burned inside her.
    Probably the stress of the last few days. Tommy Devlin on a cruise ship? No way.
    ***
    That evening the Cuisine d’Argent hostess led Thomas to Cleo’s table. The first sight of her stole his breaths. His blood rushed harder and his heart found a new rhythm. Or the rhythm he’d missed since the last time he saw her.
    He took the seat opposite her and waited for the explosion. But seeing him turned her to stone except for the myriad emotions flashing across her sea-green eyes—shock and anger, and maybe fear.
    He stared right back, drawn to the flame that was Cleo Chandler. Her elfin features seemed more defined. A ruddy flush highlighted her vivid coloring.